The Runt of the Litter
by Peacexfreedom
Summary: The title kinda says it. Hiccup was the runt of the litter (drabble inspired by episode 1x08)


a/n: Just an idea that popped into my head during tonight's episode. Sorry if it's crappier than usual, but this is the first story I tried writing solely on the computer (as opposed to the good old pen and paper). I hope it's not too atrocious. Please review.

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It was a happy year for the residents of Berk. Over a dozen women had given birth to the next generation of vikings, each one born healthy and happy. Well, most of them, at least. Upon the final birth, all of the new mothers and young vikings-to-be gathered together to share the joy of new life and hope for a bright future. At the gathering, the infants were placed in the center of a circle, made up of the happy mothers and fathers, and were allowed to crawl and play, as they so desired. The vikings laughed and joked as they admired their children with pride, all talking of their future and success. Little hands were constantly pressed to the floor in an attempt to crawl around, and chubby arms groped for another to hold.

Though every child was present, not all were active. The young son of Valhallarama and Stoic the Vast did not move towards the other children in curiosity, nor did he attempt to interact with them. He sat in the circle, staring with bewilderment at various objects in the room. Upon seeing the immobile child, many of the parents gossiped not-so-softly of all of the quirks of this strange child. The infant was not as active as the others, but also appeared smaller…and scrawnier. The parents almost felt that they had to handle the child with care and grace, lest they make a wrong move and crush the fragile child.

Stoic was embarrassed that the newborn son of the chief was a smaller-than-average, weak child. But Valhallarama, on the other hand, could not be more proud of her boy; she saw a light in his eyes that was unique to their little boy, and she would not trade the instinctive fascination for all the strength in the world.

After a few hours of watching with pleasure, the mothers took their children back to their houses, intent on feeding them and letting them rest for the evening. That is, until a few hours later when they woke up the village with cries for food and attention. Valhallarama and Stoic reached their house, both thinking about their child.

"Stoic," Valhallarama was the first of the two to speak once they were alone. "We still haven't named our son. I think we've put it off long enough."

The chief nodded, though with a bit of reluctance. The two had been indecisive on their newborn's name for the past few weeks, both wanting him/her to be born with a name to match the chubby face. But since they were both vikings, agreeing on something, even as simple as a name, was not all so easy.

"Do you have any ideas?" Valhallarama said. "I was thinking Magnus."

"Hiccup," Stoic said plainly.

"Hiccup? Why would you pick _that_ as his name?"

"Because he's the smallest of all of the babies born this year."

"That doesn't mean we need to label him as such."

"Why not? It's the truth. And you know as well as I that names are based on truth," he paused upon seeing his wife's downtrodden face. "That, and the ridiculous idea that a name like Dragonbones will scare off any dragon that dares to ask a human's name."

Valhallarama smiled at her husband's joke.

"But do we have to give him the same name as a sheep?" she questioned.

"Well," he pondered a good excuse, "at least it will be unique."

"Fine," she settled, still not entirely happy with her adorable son being branded with a name that meant small and weak. But she did not have the energy to get into a fight with her loving husband. "Hiccup Haddock Horrendus III. It sounds nice."

Valhallarama looked down at her sleeping son. She smiled as she thought back to the first time she held him, but a small frown quickly took its place. She began to think of the weeks that proceeded, constantly worried that her son would die. He was born so weak and fragile, the healers all thought he would die within the fortnight, and she had to admit that her mind fell into those dark thoughts on certain days when she saw his pale face and hands that would not grasp his mother's hand in an attempt to find comfort.

_Hiccup_, she playing with the name in her mind. _Hiccup._

She saw him with the other children in her mind's eye. Well, he _is_ the smallest child. She then saw an image of the tiny, weak infant he was just a few weeks ago.

Hiccup. _I guess there's no shame in the truth_, she mused. _But no matter his name, I will love him just the same._

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a/n: sorry about the rhyming at the end, it was COMPLETELY on accident.

a/n: I know newborns don't actually crawl, but I guess I could call "creative license" on that one lol. I only put that in there to show a difference between Hiccup and the others (okay, so it made more sense in my head…sue me!)


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